Post Mortem
by MegK1978
Summary: The last in my arc, promise. Fiona Gavin returns to help the gang bury Joyce. But what's wrong with her?


"Post Mortem" Valued Gateway Client Normal Valued Gateway Client 2 1 2001-04-20T18:26:00Z 2001-10-29T20:26:00Z 8 8235 36236 710 299 57648 9.3821 

"Post Mortem" by MK

Notes: This is the last story that features my Irish fey, Fiona Gavin; I've taken her as far as she'll let me. This story takes place during and after "The Body", a continuation of my "Angel" detour. In my world, "I Was Made to Love You" never happened.

Distribution: Spike Lover's site "Death-Marked Love". Anyone else, just ask me.

Feedback: Want it, need it, gotta have it!

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Her shoulder-length hair streamed behind her, like the red-gold tail of a comet, as she ran. She hadn't stopped running since her train had arrived at the station from Los Angeles. She had taken a moment to lock away her suitcase for a time. The only evidence of luggage was the carryon bag bouncing on her back, its strap slung across her chest.

She ran down Revello Drive, skidding to a stop in front of number 1630. She only had to glance at the windows to know that she wouldn't find her answers here. 

Then it hit her, and she felt like slapping herself for not thinking of it sooner. _The hospital!_

And she ran.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Not for the first time that day, Xander Harris felt tears prick at his eyes, the reality hammering into his head as he dropped the packaged snack cakes on a nearby table. Joyce Summers, mother to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, practically a surrogate mother to himself and Willow Rosenburg, was dead. Everyone's rock, their steady foundation, had just been kicked out from underneath them.

He reflected for a moment on Dawn Summers, Buffy's younger sister, who was actually a Key that a hell-goddess was hell-bent on finding and using. The way Dawn, as a 14-year-old human girl, was reacting to the death of her mother was beginning to scare him. Buffy had just gone off to see if she was all right.

He noticed tears silently flowing down Willow's face, and moved to put a supporting arm around her.

Anya, formerly the vengeance demon Anyanka, meanwhile, was still incredibly conflicted, trying to understand her grief. She had seen and caused death before, but this was the first time it truly hit so close to home for her. She blinked her blue eyes in confusion. "Xander, does—" she had to swallow before continuing "—does grief usually play tricks on your eyesight?"

Xander cast a curious glance at his girlfriend. "Not usually."

Anya let out a small noise of relief. "Good." She pointed. "Fiona's here."

All heads turned down the hallway to see a young woman, perhaps an inch taller than Buffy, with red hair and gold highlights, searching the hallway with amber eyes.

"Fiona!" Willow called.

The strawberry-blonde reacted to her name, her eyes lighting as she caught sight of them. Fiona Gavin ran the length of the hallway, catching Tara, the closest to her, in a hug. "Came soon's I realized," she began in her rich brogue. "What happened?"

"It's Joyce," Tara replied softly. "It had s-something to do with her tumor."

"The doctor called it an aneurysm," Xander added. "Too bad I don't know that that means." He swallowed hard, trying to will the tears away.

Fiona pulled away from Tara and gently squeezed the two lifelong friends. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Did—did you get a flash?" Willow asked. "Is that how you knew to come back?" She was, of course, referring to Fiona's gift that accompanied being a fey, an Irish witch.

Fiona nodded, trying to swallow back her own tears. "I could feel everythin' ev'ryone was feelin'. I still am."

"How did it go?" Anya asked. "With your dark soul?"

Fiona offered a small smile. "I did all I could. The rest was up t' him."

"Fiona?"

The Irishwoman turned to the proper British accent, seeing the man she called her "Brit big brother", and gave him a sad smile. "Rupert," she murmured as she wrapped her arms around Giles' waist.

"When did you get here?"

"Not an hour ago." Her amber eyes came up to lock with his hazel ones. "Buffy an' Dawn? How're they takin' this?"

Something behind her caught his eye. "Here's your chance to find out." He motioned with his head.

Fiona turned again. Just beyond Xander and Willow approached two female forms with their arms wrapped around each other for support. One was blonde and petite, commonly known to the undead-and-demon population as the Vampire Slayer, and known to her friends and one love-struck vampire as Buffy. The other was brown-haired, also petite but had not yet hit her final growth spurt.

Buffy's green eyes widened slightly in surprise. Fiona had first arrived in the wake of her breakup with Riley Finn and had been a great help to her during that time. "Hey, Dawn," she nudged the brunette, "look who's here."

As Fiona came closer to them, Dawn lifted watery blue eyes to see her. She left Buffy's side to approach her, the one person who listened to her when she believed no one else would. 

"Dawn?" Fiona asked worriedly.

Dawn's face crumbled as she broke down into sobs of grief. "My mommy's dead!" she whimpered. "She was so cold!"

Fiona quickly held her tight as her tears soaked into the shoulder of her green T-shirt. She held out her hand to Buffy, who took it. "I'm so sorry, darlin'," she murmured in Dawn's ear, making sure Buffy understood she was talking to her as well.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Dawn's grief was the strongest of everyone else's, permeating Fiona so deeply she couldn't help but cry with her. She was determined not to let go of the Irish witch for a while. 

Now the two sat in the younger girl's bedroom, only just coming home from the hospital. Fiona rocked her a little, trying not to say any empty comfort words. 

Dawn finally stopped sobbing, no longer having the strength. She stayed quiet for so long Fiona wondered if she had fallen asleep from exhaustion. "Dawn? Y' awake?"

The brown-haired head nodded. 

"I wish I knew what t' tell y', dear one. I can't tell y' it'll get better, 'cause I don't know how."

"It hurts, Fiona," Dawn whispered. 

"I know." She gave her another gentle squeeze. "I know it hurts. An' I can't tell y' the pain'll ever go away. But it'll fade, become a little less."

Dawn let out a slow, shuddering breath. Her tears were gone, for now. 

Fiona swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Hey, I want t' tell the others 'bout somethin'. 'S okay if I run it by you first?"

Dawn lifted her head again, her eyes slightly wider with surprise. No one had ever asked _her_ opinion before Buffy's. "Sure. What is it?"

"Well, how would y' feel about an Irish wake fer yer mum?"

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"What's the difference?" Buffy asked. They had gathered in the Summers' living room to hear Dawn and Fiona out. "What's in an Irish wake that's not in an American one?"

"Well, the basic elements of an Irish wake are the corpse on the porch, the alcohol in the kitchen, an' ev'ryone in the kitchen." Fiona tried to smile and keep her tone light, but she knew she had failed. "It's more of a party than anythin' else," she went on. "A celebration of a life, rather than the mournin' of a death. Y' tell stories, y' sing, y' dance. Y' remember the wonderful woman yer mother is, no' dwell on how she died."

Everyone shot her an incredulous look. "'Is'?" Willow repeated, her face coloring in anger. "You said 'is'. Are you _trying_ to be cruel?" Tara quickly put an arm around her.

"I'm sorry, Willow. I'm Roman Catholic; it's part o' m' faith that the human soul is immortal. So, technic'ly, part o' her lives on." Fiona bowed her head to avoid their glares. "Sorry if I . . ." She let out a breath. "Please think it over, talk? Rupert, c'n I talk t' y' outside?"

Giles followed his "little Irish sister" out to the porch, where she raised her head to look at him, embarrassed and anguished. "God, did I just make a _complete_ arse o' m'self?"

Despite the circumstances, Giles gave her a smile. "I don't think so. All you did was offer something different, another way to honor Joyce's memory. We're all still somewhat in shock. I suppose—it's just a reaction to another change."

She covered her eyes a moment, not bothering to wipe away her tears from earlier. Her hand fell, as a thought seemed to strike her. "Has anyone—told Spike about this yet?"

Giles' smile disappeared as he was reminded of what had happened to Buffy. "No one has seen him for a week, and it's just as well," he bit off angrily.

Fiona blinked at his vehemence. "Okay," she said slowly, "what's happened 'round here since I've been gone?"

He sighed and explained what had happened between Buffy and the vampire when he told her he loved her. Fiona reacted, as she should, not letting on that she already knew the details from Spike himself. The cockney vamp had visited her the night after he had disastrously bared his heart to the Slayer.

"With any luck," Giles concluded, "he's actually _listened_ to Buffy and gotten the hell out of town."

She rolled her eyes, with a look that plainly said, "Yeah, right." "D' y' know if he liked Mrs. Summers? I mean, for herself, no' because she's Buffy's mum?"

He was silent for a moment as he thought it over. "I suppose he did. When he returned two years ago, after his problems with Drusilla began, he didn't even try to harm Joyce. She just listened to him. 

Fiona's lips twitched in a smile. "She's prob'ly the first one t' treat 'im as somethin' other 'n a demon. I'll tell him m'self. Y' let me know what they decide?"

"I don't think anyone would like it if they knew you were going to him, Fiona."

"Then tell them somethin' else that's the truth: I went fer a walk t' give them time an' me t' get 'way from m' embarrassment." Another smile twitched her mouth. "'Sides, I'm the only one who c'n talk t' him wi'out hittin' 'im. I'll see y' later."

Giles could only watch as she walked away, and hope Buffy wouldn't kill her later if she ever found out.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Spike was drunk. No, he had a hangover. No, it was both, that was it. He had a hangover from the night before, and he was working on yet another bottle of gin that tasted like varnish. Hey, alcohol was alcohol. And wait until he got his hands on the bugger with the sledgehammer . . .

No, wait. Someone was knocking on his door. The bleached blonde vampire moaned, still in a stupor. "Sod off, whoever y' are!"

"I will _not_ sod off, William!" a female voice replied. "Open the bloody door!"

He moaned again, for he recognized the voice, the accent, one of the only women, living or undead, to call him by his true name on a regular basis and get away with it. He opened the door, careful to avoid the sunlight, and slammed it shut again once the Irish strawberry-blonde was inside.

She wrinkled her nose as she took a whiff of him. "Dear God, William! I would've thought Angelus taught y' how t' appreciate the better liquors."

"'Lay low for a bit,' you said," he bit off, ignoring her playful snub of his drinking. "'Think seriously 'bout it,' you said. I've done nothing BUT think about it since I came back!"

Fiona blinked, unsure of how to reply to such an outburst. 

"Will I wind up like my poof of a sire?" Spike demanded. "Am I not gonna enjoy my unlife anymore, just 'cause I'll have a soul?" He threw the half-empty bottle at the wall, the shattered glass and cheap gin showering down to the floor, and grabbed her by the upper arms. "Why didn't ya just curse me and be done with it!"

She pushed him away, hard, making him stumble back. "I didn't want y' make a stupid mistake, damn you!" she exploded, feeling another wave of fresh tears threatening to spill over. _Oh, God, not now,_ she thought, _please not now. _The strange empathic link she'd formed with the Scoobies was beginning to take its toll, and she fought to keep the tears back.

Spike snapped just a little further out of his alcohol-induced haze. Just enough to know something was off. "Hey, Fee, what is it?" he asked, his voice gently concerned now. She allowed his cool fingertips to trace trails on her cheek. "C'n see the tear tracks on yer face. What's wrong?"

Fiona took another steadying breath before speaking, raising her eyes to meet his. "It's Buffy's mum."

His eyes widened slightly. "Joyce? She ill? In hospital again?"

She swallowed. "It's a wee bit worse." Another swallow. "William, she's dead."

Spike recoiled, taking a step back, shaking his head. "No," he whispered. Without warning, he went into frenzy, overturning furniture, letting out inhuman snarls and growls. He finally sank to his knees, his body shaking, letting out a mournful, grief-stricken howl.

When the lonely sound faded, Fiona knelt in front of him. His rampage had frightened her for the first time since she'd met him, and she didn't want to take any chances by startling him. "William?"

His demon was out, regarding her with yellow eyes, the features incongruous with the tears that now ran down his cheeks. With a conscious, visible effort, he pushed it down, his handsome features sliding back into place, his eyes again dark blue. "How?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Demon? Vampire?"

"Neither. 'Twas an aneurysm. From what I could tell, 'twas always a risk wi' the surgery." Acting on instinct, she crept closer to him before he pulled her into a hug, still shaking as he cried.

"Not fair," he murmured. "Never wanted her t' go. Just not fair."

"I know," she replied softly. "It's what I yelled at the Powers That Be when I realized what I saw."

Spike pulled back enough to look at her, his fingers tracing her cheek again. "Ya didn't really know Joyce, but you're cryin' for her."

Fiona gave him a bemused little smile. "That's the funny thing, William. They aren't _my_ tears."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A few days later, Joyce Summers was cremated, her ashes scattered in two places: by her marker in Peaceful Rest cemetery, and near her house. As she'd stated in her orders, "I'd like a place for my daughters to visit, while at the same time they can continue to walk all over me. (I'm kidding, girls.)"

Buffy and Dawn had smiled sadly when the orders had been read aloud. 

After the ashes had been spread, every human who knew Joyce gathered in the Summers house, the place she had put every ounce of her being to make into a home for her children.

Fiona was allowed to begin the wake, calling attention to herself. "Now, not all of y' know me, so let me start by introducin' m'self. M' name is Fiona Gavin, an' I first came here a couple o' months ago. In that time, I came t' know Mrs. Summers as a wonderful woman, who loved her work, her family, an' her life. 

"This is a wake in the Irish tradition. Y're allowed t' laugh, tell stories, sing, an' even dance a bit. This is a celebration of Mrs. Summers' life; I don't think she'd want us t' be sad." Fiona had to pause a moment, to stem the wave of emotion that suddenly engulfed her. 

Buffy shot a curious, concerned look at Giles, who knew Fiona best and her gift the most. Giles returned the look with a slightly confused expression, which worried his Slayer. If the older man didn't know what was going on, it didn't bode well at all.

Fiona cleared her throat, shaking her head to clear it, not bothering to wipe away the tear that had escaped her eye. "'Scuse me," she apologized. "Anyway, please enjoy yerselves, 'cause I know Joyce'd want y' t' celebrate, for she's no longer in pain."

She got a smattering of polite applause as she sat, suddenly looking as weary as she felt. Giles sat beside her, more worried than before. 

Someone had brought a guitar and began strumming one of Joyce's favorite songs. 

"Fiona, are you all right?" 

She took a few deep breaths before answering. "I think m' gift's getting' stronger, Rupert," she said, her voice pitched low enough so only he could hear her. "But I'm okay." She smiled at him. "We'll talk later. Don't worry."

But that statement just made him worry even more.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The wake grew into full swing. More instruments had been added to the guitar. People danced. A few tried their hand at singing, often with comical results. Everyone told stories of Joyce at the Gallery, at home. The Scoobies had unanimously decided to leave any Slayer-related stories until after the others had gone. 

It was just before sunset when all but the Scooby Gang and Fiona left, giving Buffy and Dawn their condolences. Fiona was delighted with the stories the others told; she laughed especially hard when she heard of Spike and the fire axe.

"Taken out by the Slayer's mum!" she crowed. "That _must've_ hurt his pride!"

"And his head," Buffy added with her own grin. Remembering her mother like this was strangely cathartic, but not entirely. She still felt the gaping hole in her heart, her life. What was she going to do now that Joyce was gone?

Fiona suddenly grabbed her head with a moan of pain. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably, strangled laughter and sobs escaping her throat. Everyone watched in horror as she convulsed and choked out "Help!" before collapsing into Giles' arms. One more whimpered word got out: "William . . ."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

_William . . ._

Spike started out of the light doze he'd fallen into. Joyce's ashes had been scattered today, he remembered. He'd toasted her with a shot of the good liquor he'd bought only the night before. He hadn't drunk enough to have a hangover, let alone hear voices.

_William . . . help me, please._

No, her voice. "Fiona?" he asked aloud.

_William, please help me,_ the voice whimpered in pain.

"Where are ya, luv?"

_Buffy . . ._

Of course, she'd mentioned there would be a wake today. "Hang on, I'm comin'." He grabbed his duster and was out the door like a shot.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The gang laid Fiona on the sofa after she'd collapsed. She writhed and moaned, obviously in pain, but they had no idea what was causing it. Tara and Willow had gone out to gather some magickal supplies, to see if her pain had been supernaturally induced. Anya, Dawn, and Xander took turns talking to her to see if they could reach her. 

Buffy and Giles retreated to a corner. "Giles, what's wrong with her?"

Giles had to ponder the question only a moment. "She mentioned something about her gift. She believed it was getting stronger. We were . . . going to talk about it." His eyes flickered worriedly at the young Irish witch. 

Everyone jumped as someone suddenly pounded on the door. "That was fast," Buffy commented. "Hang on, Willow!" She wrenched the door open, only to narrow her eyes angrily. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Where's Fiona? How is she?" Spike demanded in return. He was still hurt over the de-invite, but he pushed it away for now. 

"I told you to get the hell out of town, Spike," Buffy ground out.

"Let me see her!"

"She's not in any condition to see you. And even if she was, she wouldn't." She slammed the door in his face again.

Spike froze for a moment. "Not gonna get rid o' me!" he shouted through the door. "I'll stay here until you LET ME SEE HER!" He sat down hard on the top step, settling back on a pillar of the porch. 

_William?_

He heard the weak, soft brogue in his mind again. "I'm here, Fee. Slayer won't invite me in t' see ya."

_'S okay. Good t' know . . . y're here._

"Can ya tell me what's wrong, pet?"

_Don't know. Just . . . hurts so much. _

"You'll be okay, luv," he promised quietly. "If a demon's causin' ya this pain, I'll make sure it pays dearly."

"Spike?"

He turned his head, recognizing the voice before seeing its owner and her companion. "They're still alive, Red," he assured. "The de-invite's still there."

Willow and Tara cautiously and quickly walked past him and into the house. "Did anyone know that Spike was out there?" Tara asked.

Buffy sighed in exasperation. "He says he wants to see Fiona. Why can't he just _leave_?!

Meanwhile, Dawn noticed the small medallion that had worked its way from underneath Fiona's blouse. She hadn't seen it before Fiona had left, after having a vision of a darkened soul that needed to be dragged back to the light. "Giles," she called, fumbling with the clasp.

The Watcher came over, scrutinizing the necklace himself. "Odd," he mumbled. "This is a Saint George medallion." He looked up at the strange looks everyone was giving him. "For as long as I've known her, Fiona's never worn the medallion of a British saint. And I've never seen this necklace before. 

"If it's new, could it be causing this?" Xander asked.

"Oh, we could do the spell on this," Willow said. "See if it was cursed or something."

Giles handed the necklace to the two witches with a nod. They got to work laying powder and lighting candles and incense as the others watched intently.

Dawn silently backed away, allowing Xander to take over quietly soothing Fiona's tortured mind. Standing on tiptoe, she looked through the glass to see Spike still sitting on the porch, staring out into space. While she wanted to watch the spell take place, something else was telling her, with more urgency, that she had to find out why Spike was here. Casting a careful glance back, she slipped outside.

Spike heard the door quietly open and close, smelled the subtle change of scent in the air. "Hey, Nibblet," he greeted, not turning around. 

Dawn's expression darkened at his nickname for her, but she pushed it away when he asked, "How is she?"

"Well, she stopped writhing around and she's not making those little noises of pain anymore, but she won't wake up." She felt tears threatening to spill over again. She'd already lost her mom; she didn't want to lose anyone else. He moved his legs so she could sit beside him. 

"Know what happened?"

"No. Willow and Tara are doing a spell on a medallion I found around her neck, to see if it's cursed or anything."

He finally looked at her. "A Saint George medallion?"

Her eyes widened, then she remembered the sharpness of vampiric hearing. "Yeah."

For the first time in the last few days, he laughed, which annoyed the Key to no end. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"They're wastin' their time. The medallion isn't cursed."

"How do you know?"

"I gave it to her."

Her eyes widened again. "What?"

"I knew the 'dark soul' she left t' salvage. Thought she could use all the help she could get; Saint Dragon-Slayer seemed the most 'propriate." He stared off into dark space again.

She watched him closely, seeing concern and worry play across his face. He actually _cared_ about the Irishwoman laid out on the sofa! After what had happened with Buffy, Dawn had a hard time thinking of him as anything but the soulless vampire he was. He'd wanted to feed Buffy to his crazy ex-girlfriend, for heaven's sake! But seeing him worry like this was unnerving . . . and gave her something to consider.

"What are you willing to do?" she suddenly asked.

His brows furrowed as he looked at the brunette in confusion. "What d' ya mean?"

"If, _IF_ I revoke the de-invite for you to see Fiona, what would you be willing to do in return?"

Spike looked at the younger Summers girl, the Slayer's kid sister, and saw that she was being completely, maturely serious. "You tryin' t' negotiate with me, Bite Size?"

She glared at him ferociously. "Answer me."

He briefly weighed his options. He could either stay out on the porch and pick up news second-hand, or sacrifice his pride to see her himself. 

"I'll help with patrols, you do the de-invite again, I'll stay out of Big Sis's way, and, when she c'n take over again, I'll leave town, for good." He was surprised at himself that the list came out so easily and quickly. 

For a moment, brown eyes searched dark blue. "I have your word on it? You'll promise to do what you say?"

"I haven't lied t' ya b'fore, Dawn," he replied. "I promise, an' I'll keep that promise."

She didn't know how or why, but she believed him. "Okay, Spike. Consider yourself invited again."

He smiled softly. "Thanks."

Dawn gave him a cold glare, wordlessly saying she didn't like him anymore. "Thank me when you keep your promise."

He nodded in understanding.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Everyone was lost in thought, as Dawn and Spike had spoken on the porch. The only one who noticed the vampire's presence was Anya, taking her turn beside Fiona, and only when he'd gently laid a hand on the red-and-gold hair. 

"Hey!" The ex-demon slapped the offending hand away. "Leave her alone!"

Buffy immediately stalked toward him, looking up at Anya's cry. "How the hell did you get back in here?"

Dawn moved between her sister and Spike. "I invited him again."

"I hope you have an explanation for this," Giles said sternly.

The brunette gave the Watcher a cool, surprisingly mature look. "He's her friend," she began reasonably. "When she's better, he'll leave and Tara and Willow can de-invite him again. He just wanted to see her."

Spike looked at Anya. "May I?"

The blonde questioned Giles and Buffy with her eyes. At their nods, Anya moved so Spike could sit beside the supine young woman, taking a hand gently in his. 

"Hey, Fee, I'm here," he said softly. "I'll be here until ya wake up. Gonna be on the Slayer's nerves 'til then, so c'mon. Get me off the hook here." To everyone's surprise, he gently pressed his lips to her forehead. "C'mon, pet, please wake up."

After a moment, Giles cleared his throat. "Spike, when Fiona saw you a few days ago, did she say or do anything unusual, out-of-character for her?"

It didn't take long to know what Giles was talking about. "Yeah. I knew she'd been cryin'. She said they weren't her tears."

"Hey, wait!" Xander exclaimed. "At the hospital, Fiona said she was feeling every emotion we were feeling."

"Well, we know the medallion's not the cause," Tara commented. "It's completely hex-free."

Spike restrained himself from making any derisive noises.

"It may be a natural progression of her gift," Giles theorized, "but I don't recall anything about a person with the second sight suddenly becoming empathic to such an extreme."

Dawn did a double take at the words "second sight". Spike had told her that those people with the sight (and run-of-the-mill lunatics) were able to see the key in its human form: her. Had Fiona known Dawn was the Key all this time?

Buffy looked at the still form furiously. She'd actually gone to _Spike_?! Why in God's name would she do something like that?

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

She was in a warm, dark place, and she didn't want to leave for a while. She'd retreated here when she was reassured of Spike's physical presence, away from the pain of hundreds of strong emotions screaming at her. _What happened t' me?_ she thought. _What's changed?_ She wanted to cry but couldn't summon the tears.

"Hello, Fiona."

She felt her insides freeze at the voice. "Mrs. Summers?"

The voice laughed gently. "I'm dead, Fiona. I think it's time you call me Joyce."

Fiona slowly turned, her vision becoming clearer. Joyce Summers stood before her in a simple white sheath of cloth, an ethereal light surrounding her, her face the picture of peace.

Fiona swallowed nervously. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"No, you're still very much alive."

"Then what's happened t' me? I get one flash tellin' me y're gone, an' everyone's emotions start poundin' int' me."

"I'm sorry about that, Fiona. Let me explain. You see I died too suddenly. I never got a chance to say goodbye." Her face fell slightly as she said the words. "And only someone with a powerful second sight would be able to see and hear me, take my farewells back. You were the only possessor of the sight that I know of that Buffy trusts. So, they had to augment your gift, make it powerful enough so we could talk."

_They?_ "The Powers That Be?"

Joyce nodded.

Fiona's eyes widened. "I'm no' suddenly a seer like Cordelia, am I?" She had been there to catch the former May Queen in the wake of a vision, and it looked _extremely_ painful.

"No," Joyce replied with a smile. "When we're done talking, the powers will fade, but you'll still have the memory of it and this."

Fiona sighed in relief. "Okay." Their eyes met. "I'm ready."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Spike noticed the subtle changes in Fiona's body, hearing and feeling her heartbeat pick up, her breathing taking in more oxygen. He put her hand down, backing away a bit. 

Giles, who had been watching like a hawk behind the sofa, saw the vampire back off and her eyes begin to flutter open.

For a moment, her amber eyes were cloudy and unfocused. Then she saw Giles and smiled. "Hello, Rupert."

Giles sighed in relief. The others were afraid to speak, afraid that her consciousness was severely temporary.

Her eyes wandered until they settled on the pale face and peroxide hair, her smile still in place. 

Spike returned the smile. "Welcome back, little mick witch."

"Good t' be back, y' murderin' bastard," she returned. Their exchange held no rancor but good-natured banter.

"Well, I'll take m' leave, then. You c'n put the de-invite back up," Spike said to Willow. He headed for the door, only to be stopped by Dawn. "I'll keep m' promise," he said in response to her look. "Slayer." Buffy looked up to glare at him. "I'm sorry about yer mum. Joyce was a classy lady." He disappeared into the night. 

Buffy gave her sister a look, mouthing _Promise?_

"I'll explain later," Dawn assured.

"How do you feel?" Giles asked.

Fiona slowly and carefully sat up. "Okay, I s'pose."

"We're not hurting you, are we?" Xander asked worriedly.

Fiona smiled. "No. M' sudden extreme empathy's faded. 'Tisn't needed anymore."

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked. 

Fiona took in a breath, preparing herself for the backlash. "I have a message fer all o' y'. From Joyce."

Silence was prevalent in the wake of that statement. Fiona took the opportunity to explain what Joyce had told her. 

"What's the message?" Dawn finally asked.

"Okay, this'll take a while." Fiona straightened herself, closing her eyes. Something changed on her face, and when her eyes opened again, they were full of wisdom beyond her twenty-plus years. Her amber eyes locked first on the Slayer, opening her mouth to reveal Joyce's cadence of speech, quoting her word-for-word. "'Buffy, I don't know if I ever told you often enough, but I am _very_ proud of you. You've fought against odds I hadn't known existed before. I consider myself honored to have had you for a daughter.'"

The eyes found the Key's human form. "'Dawn, I don't care what anyone did, I don't care that my memories aren't real. You are _my_ child, my baby. Don't doubt that for a moment.

"'Rupert, I can't thank you enough for being there for Buffy. I never really understood being the Slayer, and I'm glad you were there to guide her, to listen to her when I couldn't.

"'Xander, Willow, you two have loved and helped Buffy, and I would have been proud to have had you as my children, too.

"'Tara, Anya, I know you complete Willow and Xander's lives. You are both strong women, and nothing will break you unless you let it.'"

She looked at the room at large. "'I know this is hard, but this isn't the end. We will see each other again. But not yet.'" She gave a fierce glare at Dawn and Buffy, saying again insistently, "'Not yet.'" The amber eyes closed again, face relaxing, the wisdom of ages falling away until all that remained was a young fey. 

Fiona took a breath before opening her eyes again. While she'd relayed Joyce's message, she'd half zoned-out, only dimly aware of the words coming from her mouth. She saw that everyone had tears running down their faces. Buffy, Dawn, and Giles held on to each other for dear life. Xander, Anya, Willow, and Tara drew on each other's strength to keep standing. 

Fiona gently put a hand on Buffy's and Dawn's shoulders. "Y' okay?" she asked softly.

She met several pairs of watery eyes. Buffy reached up to place a hand on Fiona's, a small smile on her lips. "Thank you."

Fiona returned the smile. "'Twas worth a few hours o' excruciatin' pain."

Dawn broke away from Giles and her sister to go to the strawberry-blonde. For the third time in as many days, Fiona held the younger girl tightly.

There was a great deal of silence as everyone absorbed the message from a dear member of the family. Dawn finally, slowly smiled. "She's still with us," she murmured. "She never really left."

"No, she didn't," Buffy said, stroking her "little sister's" hair.

"There's . . . one thing more," Fiona added slowly. "Joyce told me somethin' interestin'. About Spike."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Sunrise chased Spike into his crypt, the deadly rays just catching the tail of his duster as he made it through the door. After he'd left the Summers' house, he decided to start following through on his promise. His fellow vampires had been unusually inactive, and he had to wonder what kind of trouble was brewing.

He snorted in amusement at the turnaround in his thinking. There had once been a time when he would have welcomed such trouble; now the only thing that worried him was how he could steer that trouble away from Buffy and the Scoobies.

_Better get a few hours in,_ he thought as he peeled the duster off. He fell on the bed, fully clothed. One last thought flitted through his mind before sleep claimed him: _Start packin', Spike ol' boy. You'll not be seein' Sunnyhell again._

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

After a few fitful hours, he'd put on one of his Sex Pistols CDs as he started roaming the crypt, collecting his few belongings, running his mental checklist.

Most of his music was in his car already; Harmony had never acquired the taste for it. The TV he could do nothing about. He'd have to find an alternate road to his "Passions" fix. With regret, he packed away the things he'd taken from the Slayer's house over the last few months, labeling it with her address. Somehow, he'd get it to her before he left.

The only things that he kept for himself were the sketches he'd made of her. The ones drawn from memory were less than perfect, but the ones when she'd been in front of him, mostly when she was asleep, were exceptional. He tucked the sketches away in his leather-bound portfolio.

He'd smiled when he'd bought the folder with his cigarette money. _I'm flippin' Leonardo on the bleedin' _Titanic_,_ he'd thought, and now he thought, _Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll do one more of her._

His musings were interrupted by a knock on the crypt door. Still sunshiny, not vampire; only two people he knew actually _knocked_ before barging in, and neither of them would dare attack while his back was turned.

"'S open," he called over his shoulder, hearing the door squeak open.

"Hello, William."

Spike smiled as the brogue washed over his ears, turned to its owner. "Hey, Fee. Good t' see ya on yer feet again." He spoke with genuine warmth and affection for the Irish witch, which surprised him even more than his love for the Slayer.

Fiona looked around with interest. "What're y' doin'?"

"What's it look like?" he asked, turning back to tuck the portfolio away. 

"It _looks_ like y're packin' an' runnin' away."

He winced inwardly. She was closer to the mark than she realized, but he wouldn't let her know that. "Half-right."

"What, y're no' packin'?"

"I'm not runnin' away," he corrected. "Just makin' sure I got ev'rythin' once Bu—the Slayer's up t' patrollin' again." The sooner he distanced himself from them, starting with only calling Buffy "Slayer", the easier it would be to leave. He zipped up the pack and flopped into his chair sideways, looking up at her, giving her his patented smirk.

Her amber eyes looked at him, then through him. That smile masked so many emotions, most of them considered inappropriate for a master vamp of his 'Big Bad' reputation. "Y're no' hidin' very well," she remarked. "I know keepin' this promise is killin' y'."

He blinked, marveling at her talent to read him like a book when he thinks the words had been written in invisible ink. "The Nibblet tell ya, then?"

Fiona nodded, sitting on the arm of the chair next to his legs. "Almost can't believe y' made such a promise just t' see me."

He smiled a genuine smile at her as touched her face lightly. "What c'n I say, Red? You've grown on me."

She leaned into his fingers a bit, returning the smile. He'd more than just grown on her, and she was determined to keep her love for him a secret. He was destined for another, she knew. She just hoped the other wised up enough to see it. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked quizzically.

"That I'm no' goin' wi' y'." She touched his cheek. "Decided t' stay here 'n' help Rupert. I don't want y' t' be alone." She had to fight the urge to go down on him and kiss him and beg him to stay. 

His smile grew softer. He shifted around until she was in his lap, reclining against him. "Hey, what happened t' ya, anyway?"

Fiona briefly explained what had happened, causing Spike to chuckle. "The Slayer got 'er fire from her mum. Only Joyce'd twist the arms o' the Powers That Be t' say goodbye."

"And she gave me somethin' interestin' 'bout you, William." She extricated herself from him; being so close now was distracting her.

"Interestin' how?" _Now_ he was intrigued.

"Bein' dead has its advantages, I s'pose. It gave Joyce the chance t' see int' people's hearts 'n' souls when they don't know it." She smiled again. "She saw int' yer heart, and she knows how much y' love Buffy." 

Spike threw his hands up. "About time!" he called to the ceiling.

Fiona's smile twitched slightly, her eyes twinkling in what could only be called amusement. "She knows y' love her . . . wi' all yer heart an' soul."

He froze as the last work left her mouth, looking at her with wide eyes of astonishment. "_Soul_?!"

Unable to help herself, she grinned widely at his reaction. "Not a full one, mind y'. A small piece o' it." 

The revelation shook him to the core. A soul. He had a piece of a soul! "When? How?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. The Powers didn't tell Joyce ev'rythin'. All I know is, y' got it before Drusilla'd come back.

The implication went unspoken between them. It explained why he'd had feelings of guilt when his ex-lover had killed that girl at The Bronze so he could feed without pain.

"From what I got," she continued after a moment, "as long as y' keep doin' good, y' keep gettin' more 'n' more of it back." She grinned again. "Looks like y've put yerself on the right track, William."

"Yeah," he said with a sense of wonder. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I guess I have." The smile died quickly as reality crashed into his brain. "Still have a promise t' keep."

Fiona sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Don't y' think if Buffy 'n' the others knew 'bout this, they'd jump at the chance t' keep y' here?"

"Not after the last few years." His mouth finally twisted into an ironic smile. "I mean, let's fact it, Fee. I'm not Angel."

She thought back to those three weeks she'd spent in Los Angeles, trying to talk the vampire with a soul back from the darkness he'd immersed himself in. "No, y're not Angel," she agreed, adding silently, _Thank God._ "But y' nearly became him. I still can't believe y' _asked_ me fer yer soul back."

"Prob'ly a good thing ya didn't. I could've become even more twisted than I am." His smile turned playful, the fun-loving spark in his eyes again. "I guess I should've learned t' get the hell outta Dodge while I could." The smile slipped a little as he thought of Buffy's rejection of him over a week before. "'Sides, don't know if it's worth it t' stay."

"You have a few reasons."

Spike froze at the distinctly non-Fiona voice behind him. He wondered briefly if he'd nodded off and was dreaming again. Slowly, he stood and turned to see a small blonde inside the crypt door, looking at him with green eyes.

"Buf—" He caught himself and switched the wires in his brain. _She'll never love you, wanker!_ the voice of reason shouted in his brain. "Slayer." Now matter how much he tried to downplay it, he couldn't keep the note of surprise out of his voice.

Fiona smiled as the Slayer and vampire stared at each other uncertainly. She walked to Spike and kissed his cheek, backing away. "I'll leave y' t' talk then. I'll be outside. Call me if y' start killin' each other." She walked to the door, pausing to whisper to Buffy, "Take care; he's tryin', after all."

Buffy nodded. 

The Irishwoman found a nearby patch of grass and sat, waiting for the Hellmouth to break loose.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

After Fiona had left, they'd continued to stare, each waiting for the other to make the first move. 

"So, um, ya heard?" Spike asked at last, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. 

Buffy, on the other hand, couldn't keep her eyes from him, or her mind from what she'd heard. "Yeah, I did. You _really_ asked Fiona to restore your soul?"

He nodded, still not looking at her, and began to search his place for loose objects. _Anything_ to keep from looking at her for too long. Why torture himself like that?

"Why?" she asked. She watched him look at anything but her. Why was he suddenly afraid to meet her eyes?

"There's a certain vampire you don't worry 'bout." The name 'Angel' hovered silently in the air between them. "I thought that, if she could do it, that means one less vamp for ya t' worry about. An' before y' ask, after what happened, I couldn't ask your witches to do it."

"You were willing to do that, just so I wouldn't have to worry about you?" Buffy seemed unable to get her brain around everything she'd learned in the last twelve hours. 

"Yeah. Made a promise t' Little Sis, an' I won't get m'self so drunk I'll forget about it." Finding nothing more to add to his kit bag, he drew an unnecessary breath and finally locked eyes wither her. The sorrow and regret she saw in those dark blue eyes startled her.

The words that came next added to her surprise.

"I'm sorry."

She blinked. _That_ was unexpected.

Spike took her silence for confusion, so he elaborated. "I'm sorry for tryin' t' kill you. I'm sorry for the last couple o' years. An'—" he swallowed "—I'm sorry I tried t' force ya t' love me." He turned away quickly to keep her from seeing the tears in his eyes. He had only once before broken down in front of the Slayer and had no desire to repeat it. He grabbed the box resting on the sarcophagus and put it at her feet, backpedaling to a safe distance.

Buffy glanced at the box, then him.

"It's all the stuff I took from your house the last few months," he explained. "I was gonna make sure you'd get it before I left, but you're here now. So . . . it's yours again." He turned his back in an attempt to hide the tear sliding down his face. "I'm gonna get in a bit more sleep 'fore it's safe for me t' patrol. Better say yer g'byes now, Slayer."

No matter how hard he'd tried, she'd seen the unshed tears, his voice thick with them as he said the words. She could almost hear his dead heart breaking. _He had a piece of a soul for God knows how long, and I acted like the monsters I fight all the time,_ she thought. _What am I turning into?_ She picked up the box. "This isn't goodbye," she said softly. "Thank you." 

He allowed himself a small smile as she scampered out the door. _It's not forgiveness, but it's a start._

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Buffy apologized to Dawn for the remark about her cashmere sweater; Spike had taken it. The sisters sat with the gang in the Summers' living room.

"He really promised to help with patrols," Xander not-asked. Like Buffy, he also had problems thinking of Spike as another souled vampire.

Dawn nodded. "Part of the deal."

"Okay, everyone who thought it was possible for Spike to change _at all_, raise your hand," Buffy called.

Two hands met the challenge: Fiona's and Anya's.

Xander stared at Anya in disbelief. "I was a demon and I changed," she reminded him. "I'm still changing."

"Fiona, when did you think it was possible?" Willow asked.

"When Buffy'd been kidnapped by Glory, when I first came here," she admitted. She and the Slayer locked eyes. "I didn't tell 'im t' attack Glory while I got y' out o' those chains. He saw y' hurtin' an' he went mad. They only other bein' I ever saw him protect so fiercely was Drusilla, when I met 'em in Galway. That's really when I knew he at least cared fer y'."

"Why didn't you say anything to me?" Buffy asked.

"Because 'twasn't my secret t' tell." Fiona winced slightly. "Maybe if I had told y', things wouldn't be like they are now b'tween y'."

"If he has a piece of a soul, why doesn't he feel all remorseful about stealing from me?" Part of Xander still resented the change stolen off the table at The Bronze. 

Fiona couldn't help but smile slightly. "Maybe it's the piece that cares 'bout human lives, no' stealin' change left in the open."

Tara clapped a hand over her face to hide her grin and make Xander feel bad. Twisted logic, but it seemed to make sense.

"Does he still intend to follow through on his promise?" Giles asked.

Buffy and Fiona nodded. "He said he wanted to get some more sleep before night-fall," Buffy reported. "Before he went out on patrol."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"What will it take to break your promise?"

Spike looked at her in surprise. Buffy had actually _knocked_ before coming into his crypt. It was still an hour before sunset, so he was trapped. What was she doing here again? Didn't she want him out of town and not see him again? Was she trying to torture him? And what was all this about breaking the promise he'd made?

"Dawn," he replied. "I made the promise t' her, not you. And what're you doin' here askin' me t' break it?"

Buffy looked down briefly, trying to gather her thoughts, and up again. "Please stay."

He froze at the quiet request. "What?"

"I want you to stay, please."

Oh, his heart was torn in two now: part of him wanted to stay, badly; the other part thought of Dawn and how she'd feel if he didn't honor the tentative trust between them.

The trust won out. "Sorry, Slayer," he said with genuine regret in his voice. "But I made that promise t' Dawn." He turned away from her. "She's the one t' ask me t' break the promise, not you."

Dawn stepped inside, smiling. "Thanks, Spike."

He whirled around at the sound of her voice, his eyes wide with surprise. "Nib—I mean, Dawn. What're you—?" 

"Just wanted to see how far trust goes with you. How far you're willing to go to keep a promise to someone who _wasn't_ Buffy." Dawn came up and hugged the vampire. "Now _I'm_ asking, Spike. Please stay here."

He smiled, returning the hug. "You sure?" He asked Dawn, but looked at Buffy. 

Buffy nodded as Dawn replied. "I'm sure."

Putting a hand under her chin, he lifted the young brunette's face to lock eyes. "Okay, Nibblet. I'll stay.

Dawn grinned and hugged him again.

Buffy drew closer and held out her hand to him. He looked at it and her for a moment, finally closing cold fingers around warm. Dark blue eyes met green, and, for the first time, Buffy allowed herself to see his love for her in his eyes. She wasn't sure if she could love him back.

But this . . . this was a start.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Fiona opened her eyes, smiling. She'd seen and heard everything that had happened in the mausoleum. Since speaking to Joyce, her gift had gotten sharper, clearer. She sent Joyce a silent, brief thank you.

"Fiona?"

She turned away from the shelving to Anya, standing behind the Magic Box's counter.

"Are you okay? Another flash?"

Fiona nodded. "Yeah, but 'twasn't bad, Anya."

"Of the good?"

The image of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and William the Bloody shaking hands, with her sister between them, came to her mind, and she smiled again. "Oh, yeah. _Definitely_ of the good," she replied.


End file.
